


A Court of Thorns and Roses Halloween

by ABookAndACoffee



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Cemetery, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Halloween, Horror, Murder, Mystery, Psychological Horror, Serial Killers, Zombies, halloween party
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-01-15 09:49:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12318582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABookAndACoffee/pseuds/ABookAndACoffee
Summary: This is a set of prompts I developed and then received on tumblr, specifically for Halloween. Some might be fluffy, but many will be creepy and/or gory. I'm just going to go ahead and tag a bunch of stuff to look out for.Chapter 1 - Elain and Lucien stumble across an abandoned Illyrian camp while traveling (Prompt: “I can’t stand blood.” “Good thing it’s everywhere.”)Chapter 2 - Elain and Amren go hunting for a serial killer (Prompt: "“Is that really red syrup? Please tell me it’s syrup.”)Chapter 3 - Nesta and Cassian get detoured on their way to Rhys and Feyre's Halloween party (Prompt: "Of course, the graveyard at midnight is super sexy and not creepy, let’s go there.")Chapter 4 - Feyre invites Rhysand down to her basement.Chapter 5 - Elain and Azriel investigate a haunted house.Chapter 6 - Nesta and Cassian get dressed up for a Halloween party.Chapter 7 - Rhys and Feyre are researching in the library when they encounter a spooky presence.





	1. Screaming In The Unintended Silence

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter includes: **blood and gore, body horror, psychological horror**

I had been traveling with Lucien for weeks. 

This trip was supposed to help us get to know one another, Feyre had said. We would learn about histories, childhoods, figure out how to get along. We were supposed to find out if we were compatible outside of the mating bond, but I already knew the answer to that. I had known it from the moment I spilled from the Cauldron, but there was so much noise in my head that I didn’t understand, that I still might not ever sort out. 

So the idea that we might “move past” all of that was a lovely dream. One that Feyre was invested in, and even Nesta, eventually. I didn’t really know how Lucien felt about all of it, he was so damned cautious around me all the time. I wanted to scream at him, to tell him to kiss me, to pull me in so close that he bruised my arms. But that might have raised a few eyebrows. Better to retain some semblance of docility, until I figured out exactly what I was doing in these lands. 

I had an image in my mind of us together, united at last. But the circumstances were murky. They usually were, the glimpses of the future I received. These pictures had come on so quickly after I was Made that I wasn’t sure what was reality. There were truths I knew and yet I didn’t know which had come to pass, and which had not been experienced yet. Azriel helped me figure out how to interpret them, but all of his training was failing me now. Azriel’s steadying presence was no match for the rush of love and confusion I felt when I looked at Lucien. 

This image was different, though. I knew that it was final; I knew that it was meant to tell me that we would find our way to each other, in the end. Usually I could work out the details, if I concentrated long enough. This vision refused to be placed in a timeline familiar to me, and so I merely waited, struggling against the inevitable, as much as I wanted it. 

We were looking for shelter for the evening, in the middle of Cauldron-knew-where, when we happened along an Illyrian camp. We thought to make acquaintances, if not friends, and so I put on my humble, gracious face. Nothing worked so well as being a wolf in sheep’s clothing, especially not when the wolf had enough power to make the world burn and was accompanied by a fox. 

A curious silence was all that greeted us as we approached. Lucien had assured me that the makeshift buildings were of Illyrian construction, meaning that they would know our connection to the Night Court, and respect it. I trusted his assessment, but I didn’t trust the lack of sound coming from what I knew was usually a rather raucous group of fae. 

I started slightly when a bird flew overhead, rustling the branches of the tree it had come from. Lucien grabbed my arm but quickly withdrew it. 

“Sorry. I didn’t want to have to tell the story of that one time you fell on your ass in the middle of the woods because a bird scared you.” 

I wanted to laugh, but it felt wrong. This silence was not natural, even with the setting sun and animals making their way to their hollows and nests. There should be a fire going, Illyrians shedding themselves of stiff, sweat-soaked leathers, their families gathered around to eat their evening meal and relax for the remainder of the day. 

“I wonder if they have gone on a hunting party,” Lucien mused out loud. 

“Perhaps,” I answered, though even I could hear the doubt in my voice. 

We were so, so wrong. The place turned out to be abandoned, permanently, not just left for the time being. 

The first sign we had of permanent abandonment was a shape on the ground, wings protruding from it. Maybe it wasn’t accurate to say this place had been abandoned. More accurately, these people had fled, leaving some of their own behind. Or at least, I hoped that some of them had made it out. 

As we grew closer, it was clear that it was a body, no longer identifiable as a living being; its position was too unnatural for the male to be anything but dead. Leaves blew and tumbled, some getting stuck in the crevices created by the joint of his wings to his back. I finally stood over the body and saw that an arm was missing, probably his sword arm, the jagged edge of bone protruding from the wound. The Illyrian’s eyes were open wide, already glazed over and milky. I brushed away a fly that rested on one. He had been discarded there like a piece of trash, and I clenched my fists. 

“Can we move him? Bury him?” I asked. 

Lucien shook his head. “We need to figure out what happened here, first.” He surveyed the rest of the camp and then looked down at me, his face softening. “We’ll bury him when we can. We won’t leave him there.” 

I nodded and moved ahead without Lucien, though I immediately regretted leaving him at my back. There was one structure there that seemed more stable, larger than the others. It seemed to be a cabin that was meant to be permanent. Surely, if any fae had survived, they must have retreated there, perhaps holed up to wait for whatever had killed this Illyrian to pass, for reinforcements. The idea that a camp of warriors such as these had been taken… I didn’t want to imagine the nature of the thing that had passed this way. 

I wasn’t foolish enough to enter the building alone, however. I turned around to call for Lucien and he strode towards me, but froze. 

“Elain. Don’t turn around.” His voice had become nearly a whisper and he held out a hand towards me, beckoning me to join him. 

My hand reached up to his and my world narrowed to that point. If only I could touch him, if only his hand would grasp mine, everything would be alright. 

I took a step towards him, not wanting to draw the attention of whatever it was he wanted me away from. I heard an indistinct rustling from the forest behind me, the ones the bird had come from, that served as a shelter against weather for the camp. It was just far enough away to keep the branches from collapsing onto the tents when snow weighed down the trees, but not far enough away for me to have much of a chance at outrunning anything coming from that direction. 

When I slipped and fell on a puddle of some substance of indeterminate nature, I refused to look at it. I kept my eyes on Lucien, reaching up for his hand to help me out of the slick and mess that I had missed when my vision refused to see anything but him. 

“What did I fall in?” I asked. I knew the answer. I just didn’t want to learn on my own. 

“You don’t want to know,” Lucien replied, and I gritted my teeth. 

“I can’t stand blood,” I said, my voice flat. 

“Good thing it’s everywhere,” Lucien answered. “But hey, didn’t you and Nesta decapitate the King of Hybern that time?” 

“Extenuating circumstances.” I nearly laughed, and would have, if the back of my pants were not surely covered in blood and who knew what other bodily fluids. 

“Do we need to get inside?” I asked. 

He nodded, quick, tight. “Yes. Then we can try to figure out what happened here. I think your clumsiness scared away whatever was making that noise.” 

“If we are lucky enough that me falling down scared the thing away, surely it couldn’t have been what caused that.” I pointed to the Illyrian, sorrow filling me at the thought that he would rest there all night. Alone. 

“True. But I doubt that he lost the arm via natural causes, so we need to be on the lookout.” 

We walked in concert, our footfalls as quite as possible. There was no further discussion needed as to the amount of caution we should to take. I could hear Lucien breathing next to me, our hands clutched together. 

“Is there really blood everywhere?” My voice had become small, but I resisted the urge to clear my throat. No need to draw attention to myself. 

“It’s not too bad,” Lucien said, turning me around so he could see. 

“Liar,” I said softly. 

We finally approached the cabin, which was ruefully close to the boundary between forest and field. But it was better than spending the night outdoors and meeting whatever had cleared this camp out. 

A body was propped up against the door, head down, arms slack at its sides. It was covered with debris, leaves and other detritus that the wind had swept in. It could have been there a day, or a month. I didn’t know enough to be able to tell. But either way, we had to move it if we were going to get inside. I moved to slide the body aside and open the door when Lucien held out a hand to stop me. 

“Not yet. I need to see what happened here.” He glanced at me. “You can look away if you’d like.” 

My stomach roiled and I gathered my nerves. “No. I want to know. Maybe I can help you figure something out.” 

Lucien sat back on his heels next to the body, brushing his hair out of his face. His eyes traveled over it, taking in the various wounds. The Illyrian had lost a hand, on the same side as the other. The fingernails on his remaining hand were caked with mud, some of them cracked and crusted with blood. There was a wound, a hollow in his chest, but with the fading light and the deep red of the darkened blood, it was difficult to tell any more about it, other than that it had surely been what killed this male. 

I crossed my arms in front of myself and then kneeled down to Lucien’s level. “What do you think?” 

Lucien gestured behind us. “I think that he crawled from there.” He gently lifted the hand, showing me the fingernails, the thin trails of blood I had missed when we walked up the steps. 

Moving my hands down to the corpse’s legs, I lifted one to check for wounds - assuming the Illyrian had been trying to get away from something - and it made a sickening _thud_ as it became detached from the knee down. “Sorry.” 

Even Lucien blanched at that, but he merely replied, “At least he will be lighter. You know, when we have to move him.” 

We had checked the body over and were no closer to an answer, but in order to get inside, we had to move it. Lucien asked me to stand back, and as he hoisted the corpse underneath its arms, a stench rose from it that had me covering my face with a cloth. And then its head fell back, revealing something that we hadn’t seen on the other body. 

The eyes were missing, burned hollows the only thing that remained. There was no hint of a wound, no remnant of flesh, merely the scorch marks that deepened to pitch-black in the center. I turned and retched and Lucien stood, steadying himself on the side of the building. 

“What is that, Lucien? What did that?” Tears poured down my face from the force of my vomiting, and I held my handkerchief in front of my face to shield from the smell of sulfur and decay as much as to hide the mess I had become. I had never seen anything like this, not even during the war, and I didn’t want to even guess what other creatures might exist in this world, if they could do something like this. 

“I don’t know. But we will figure it out, and take care of it. I’ll take this away, and you wait here.” 

I heard Lucien dragging the body away as I cleaned myself. The tears that had begun to fall as I retched nearly became actual tears but I stood, righting myself and taking in a deep breath. I had been through worse, surely. I could make it through this. My vision had told me that Lucien and I would end up together, and so that must have meant that we would make it through this. 

When he returned he waited for me to motion to the door. “After you, Lucien.” 

Lucien turned the doorknob, waiting for some sort of reaction before pushing it open. The hinges were quiet, oiled, and I gave silent thanks. 

What greeted us in that room was no better than what had appeared on our way here. A huddled mass of bodies was gathered in the corner next to the fireplace, no fewer than a dozen. The children of the warriors surely, who were counting on the protection of their parents. Before he could stop me, I ran to a back room. Lucien called after me, but I couldn’t stay there; I couldn’t examine those tiny bodies as I had the others. I had nothing left in me to vomit, and I turned to him, tears blurring my vision. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“We don’t know what’s in here. You can’t go rushing off like that, ok?” 

I nodded and Lucien approached me. I fell into his arms sobbing, exhausted, covered in blood and smells I was sure were never going to wash out of my hair. I pulled away and for just a moment, I thought he might take the initiative. Instead, he strode towards the door. 

“I’m going to see if there is anything here we can use, ok? Just wait here and I’ll be back.” 

“Do you want me to come with you?” I asked. I could feel exhaustion seeping into me, the slight comfort of being surrounded by four walls overtaking my need to stay alert. 

“No, stay. Rest. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” 

I made my way to the tiny bed that was pushed against a corner of the room and sat, taking in the rest of the space. It was sparsely furnished, merely a desk and this small bed that would barely be large enough to hold a male. Typical Illyrian. It gave me small comfort to find something familiar, something that Cassian and Azriel would have been accustomed to. Lucien and I weren’t due back in Velaris for weeks, and I already felt myself longing for the sunshine glinting off the Sidra. The sense of homesickness startled me, but I decided to deal with that later. 

***** 

Minutes may have passed, or hours, I wasn’t sure. But I sat up in bed, blinking to clear my vision. I had fallen asleep, and Lucien hadn’t returned. He wasn’t supposed to leave the house. He wouldn’t have gone out without me, not in the dark. 

He wouldn’t have left me alone. 

I summoned my courage and shifted the curtains to the side. Complete darkness greeted me. I cursed myself for not having learned the constellations from Feyre or Rhysand, or some other way of telling how much time had passed since Lucien left me in this room. I stood perfectly still, attuning my ears to any possible noise or disturbance in the house. 

Nothing. 

I had to go and find him, then. I entered the hallway that led out from the bedroom, avoiding the common area where the children’s bodies had been gathered. This place wasn’t large, but there had to have been other rooms Lucien could be in. Finding a narrow stairwell, I made my way up it, wishing I had a torch. Pausing, I concentrated. I held my hand up in front of myself, palm open. A small ball of fire appeared, and I smiled. I was still finding out what I was capable of, and once again silently thanked Azriel for his training. 

Only one small room was at the top of the stairs, its door shut. I called for Lucien quietly as I opened the door, not wanting to draw any more attention to my presence. A rush of air left me when I saw the familiar glint of his red hair greeting me. 

“Lucien, what are you doing?” 

Lucien was facing the far wall, his back to me. He made no move to turn, no sign he had heard me. I approached him and placed a hand on his shoulder, but still nothing. 

“Lucien?” 

A noise came from behind me, one I realized had been following me, but I had been too distracted with finding Lucien to notice. I turned, hoping to see an Illyrian. 

The shadowy figure stood before me, shifting its weight from foot to foot in anticipation. Its features were hidden in shadow but it held a knife, its blade dripping and clearly well used. It seemed a farce. Nothing with a sharpened blade had inflicted the wounds I’d seen on the others, and yet somehow, I knew that it would use the knife afterward. After it was done with me. I turned and ran, only to find another creature blocking the door. 

The sounds coming from my throat were nothing I knew I could produce and I thrashed as something held my waist. I fell and it came with me, knocking the wind out of my chest. I gasped, sucking in lungfuls of air before I retrieved my wits. I reached for a table leg and felt my fingernails splintering, breaking, as I clawed at the floor. My fingers left trails of blood as I screamed Lucien’s name, but when I looked back for him he hadn’t moved a muscle, his back still to me. 

And then, silence. 

With sudden clarity, I understood my vision. I understood what it meant for the image to be so murky and uncertain. Lucien and I were finally to be together. But we would never see the people we loved again.


	2. Blood Drawn Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elain and Amren are on a mission to catch a serial killer, and Elain has some issues with the fact that Amren still drinks blood. When they find the killer, they are surprised to learn his motive and have to recruit help from an unexpected source.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags for this chapter: **blood, gore, murder, serial killer, secret relationship, a little fluff/romance**

Elain agreed to come on this mission with Amren under the assumption that nothing was _actually_ going to happen. She had thought of this as a training mission, a way to get her feet wet while still keeping herself well out of harm’s way. 

That, unfortunately, was not the case. 

Feyre and Rhys evidently had a lot of faith in her, to pair her with Amren. Not that she minded. She and Amren had been carrying on privately for a few months, though Elain had confessed to Feyre before she left. Feyre had merely smiled and wished her well on the trip. 

But Elain would have preferred a bit more training before being sent after an apparent serial killer. It wasn’t until they left that Amren had shared that aspect of their reason for going to the Winter Court, and Elain reminded herself to always, always ask in the future. She didn’t want to admit that she had been so excited at the idea of being away, alone with Amren, that she hadn’t even considered what might be required of them while they were gone. 

Not to mention, her partner was not much better, when it came to unsavory behavior. Elain had heard stories, had watched Amren push away a plate full of perfectly good food - food she and her sisters would have seen as a blessing, years ago - before wrapping her hands around a chalice of thick, deep red liquid. Amren would close her eyes before partaking, as if she needed to shut out the rest of the world before she could nourish herself. 

Elain was not quite used to that type of nourishment. She was not quite used to the idea of someone who could so clearly take pleasure in the origin of their meal, who reveled in the idea of the death that was a prelude to her pleasure. Elain was well aware of the fact that her food came from animals, animals who had been slaughtered by others, and dismembered, and then prepared in ways that made them barely recognizable as having been sentient by the time they reached the table. 

But she had never met someone who tried to recall that history, who seemed to relish in it. It was nearly enough to turn Elain off meat entirely, were it not for the lust that filled Amren’s eyes in these moments. It was a look she recognized well enough that on those evenings, they would make their excuses and leave dinner earlier than usual. 

Elain didn’t really consider the idea that sex and death were closely tied in those moments with Amren, that the catalyst for them going home and falling in to bed together was the fact that Amren seemed so aroused by the idea of sacrifice and slaughter. 

Amren had been turned into a High Fae years ago, and when Elain tried to question the fact that she refused to let go of old habits, Amren merely waved her off. She said that she had grown accustomed to the taste after millennia, and asked Elain in what way it was better to partake of the flesh than of the blood. 

Elain didn’t have a response to that. 

They were now in a remote village in the Winter Court, where Kallias and Viviane had requested their aid, far from the warm lights of Velaris. They had been welcomed at Court, Elain being the sister of a _particular_ friend of the High Lady Viviane. The High Lord and Lady might have been wary of Amren, but Elain’s soft presence put everyone at ease. While she wanted to assume that she had been invited along for her quick wit, she knew it was more likely that she had been requested more for her ability to blunt Amren’s edges around important company than her experience at crime-solving. 

The killer that they were dealing with had become notorious in a short amount of time, due to the manner in which they left the body. The victims were left without tongues and changed into clothing that was not their own after being ritually disemboweled. In fact, the clothing was exchanged from victim to victim, as if they shared the same identity or were merely one in a chain of experiments. The effect was eerie, a merging of identities that would have bordered on disrespect, if they had lived long enough to see themselves treated as interchangeable. 

The killer was indiscriminate in their victims, which made Amren think the killer was opportunistic, looking for the weakest, the right moment. They were husbands, partners, boyfriends, sister, fathers; nothing about the victim showed the killer’s preference, but the patterns and the fact that they had been meticulously arranged in death seemed to indicate planning. The killer wanted something, they were searching, experimenting, and each failure brought no more clues than any of the previous victims. Elain hoped that she would not have to see the aftermath of this ritual, but she didn’t want to seem squeamish, so she decided that she would accompany Amren whenever she could, to learn, to make herself useful. 

Elain’s greeting to Kallias and Vivane had more than made up for Amren’s blunt, probing questions as to the status of the bodies, and when Kallias had eyed Amren with suspicion as she drank her usual meal, Elain explained that Amren still had not adjusted to a new diet. One could certainly not expect a millennia-old habit to change any time soon, if ever, and as she rested a hand on Amren’s arm to show the trust between them, Elain understood that they saw what she saw, only without the benefit of love. They saw Amren’s hunger, the way that she relished in the blood of others, and assumed that she was no better than the one they were sending her after. 

Thus, Elain’s task began. 

Each day after rising, Elain made a point to take her breakfast with Viviane, filling her full of stories of ways that Amren had aided others in the Night Court. Amren’s dedication to her family, to her friends, the way that she had taken Nesta under her wing when they had been Made. Elain was surprised at how much she had to say about the woman who seemed to express little affection in words. 

On the fourth day, Viviane rested a hand on Elain’s arm, reassuring her that if they didn’t trust Amren, neither of them would be there. And that was that. Elain was able to join Amren on her nightly excursions to the scene where the bodies had been dumped, though the grounds were so extensive that it was often the task of a night to determine where the victim had actually been murdered. 

Before Kallias had become High Lord of the Winter Court, his father had practiced rather archaic methods of dealing with those at the fringe of society. Most of the victims of this killer had been found at the outskirts of an abandoned sanitarium, leading everyone to avoid the place as if it were the entrance to Hell. Of course, they had done so before, given the reputation of this place where fae, High and lesser alike, had entered, never to exit in the same condition, if at all. 

Amren told Elain that she knew better. The place were merely a convenience, nothing about its previous reputation having anything to do with the choice. It was situated far enough away from society that screams would go unheard, while providing ample space, complete with cells that locked and old equipment, the tools of experimentation that tended to leave one less sane than when they had entered. 

She took Elain there during the day, the two of them hoping for some clues would become apparent when the context changed with daylight. Even then, Elain shivered in the shadows, the peeling paint and rusted hinges of doors creating a picture of a place that indeed must have been some sort of hell, even when it was being kept up. 

The last thing they expected, though Amren told her afterward that she had hoped, was to be the ones who found the next body. 

Elain was heading into a room deep in the facility, at the end of another twisting hallway that seemed designed to obfuscate and make it impossible for those without a map to leave, when Amren held an arm in front of her, stopping her progress. 

“What is it?” 

Amren merely pointed at the body propped up against the wall. It was a High Fae male, and he was wearing the dress of the victim who had been found before, a street vendor who had vanished on her way home the week before. 

Elain said a silent prayer that the killer liked to dress his victims in fresh clothing, concealing the gruesome wounds that lie beneath and told the story of the hollows he enjoyed carving into their abdomens. 

Amren entered the room first, holding a hand out to Elain as she inspected, making sure that they were alone but for the corpse. Her senses, equal to Elain’s but honed after centuries more training, discovered information that Elain could only guess at. 

Finally, she gestured for Elain to join her. She stepped across the threshold cautiously, as if it were a momentous occasion for her to be this close to a corpse not of her own making, but the result of some evil she could still only guess at. 

Before looking to the body, Elain took in the room. It was much the same as the others they had encountered; the paint cracked and peeling, the iron frame of a narrow bed discarded against one wall, nonsensical words traced in bodily fluids along the walls, the remnants of a fire from some vagrants who had found shelter in the building. When she worked up the nerve, she looked to the body. 

It seemed peaceful. As if it were someone who might be asleep, but who had not been roused by the noise of her entrance with Amren. The male was propped against a wall, his legs straight out, his hands folded in his lap. A dark stain covered the torso of the corpse, and Elain hoped that Amren would wait until she had turned away before inspecting what was underneath the clothing. 

Amren was kneeling next to the corpse, inspecting what clues she could find from around the body. Meanwhile, Elain tried to make herself useful - scenting the air with her fae senses, honing in to the premonitions that had proved so helpful at other times. She saw a flash of terror, the face of the now-deceased High Fae when he realized what was about to happen to him. She saw the movement of the killer, sure-footed, unafraid of being caught. He walked as if that was what he wanted, and Elain blinked, assuring herself that he was nowhere near. She placed a hand on Amren’s shoulder to steady herself. 

Amren ignored the gesture, concentrated on her task. Much to Elain’s horror, she dipped a finger into a small stain of red liquid that had pooled underneath the fae, spreading out just beneath him in a slow progress that could probably be measured by some science that Elain had no interest in learning. Amren’s finger reached to her mouth, tasting what must surely be stale and old, the aftermath of who knew how many hours of horror before this male had met his end. 

“Is that really red syrup? Please tell me it’s syrup,” Elain pleaded. 

Amren looked up at her with a smile, the unidentified liquid sliding from the corner of her mouth. “Elain, dearest,” she began. “We are on the trail of a serial killer. Do you think that they leave behind a trail of jam?” 

Elain huffed. “Of course not. But why did you do that?” 

“Do what?” Amren stood and turned to face Elain. 

“Taste it. Put that in your mouth.” She crossed her arms. 

Amren approached, one measured step at a time. “And what should I put in my mouth, dearest?” She took Elain’s lower lip between her thumb and forefinger, pulling her close, gently, waiting for resistance. When she met none, Amren kissed her, soft, slow, making sure to savor the taste and feel of her lover. 

Pulling away, Elain glanced at the body. “Amren.” 

“Yes?” 

“This body. It’s different than the others.” 

“How observant of you, dearest,” Amren answered. She had moved back to the site, continuing her investigation. 

“He was killed here. There’s too much blood. What does that mean?” Elain was afraid to ask, afraid of the implications that such a crime had been committed nearby. 

“It means that it is likely the killer is still near. That he might have very recently, and hastily, deposited the body here.” 

Elain turned to the doorway, all of her senses on alert. She wondered at Amren’s calm, wondered how long it would take for her to learn the same sense of confidence in the face of this sort of horror. 

She grasped Amren’s shoulder again when a male strode into the room, clapping softly. 

He was a High Fae, well-dressed, holding himself erect as if sure of his purpose. Elain would not have been surprised to encounter him at one of Rhysand’s parties, yet another titled lord of some town or another, trying to make his influence and importance known. But he was a killer, through and through, and she needed no further proof than the fact that he came into the room as if he owned the place, as if it were a trap that he had laid just for them. 

Amren stood and turned towards him. “You were waiting for us.” 

“Yes,” the male replied. 

“Why did you leave this for us?” Amren asked. Elain looked back and forth between them, wondering at the familiarity. But no, it wasn’t that. Amren had expected this. She’d had an idea of what this male wanted, and she had been waiting for her suspicions to be confirmed. Suspicions she had never shared, but Elain figured that was neither here nor there, at this point. 

“I want in the Prison,” he replied. Simply. As if it were something that anyone would strive for, as if the reply made his reasons obvious and he needed no further explanation. 

“You’re going to have to give us more than that,” Amren said. A dark tone had entered her voice and Elain would have shuddered to be on the receiving end of it. 

“My reasons are my own. But if you take me there, I’ll be done.” He sighed and closed his eyes, as if access to the Prison were the idea of heaven itself. “I’ll have what I need. Which is access. That’s all I require.” 

“I’m not taking you there,” Amren began. “But I know someone who will.” Elain glanced at her, and then looked away when she realized. 

Cassian. Cassian would need to come, to take this killer to the Prison, to add one more to the ranks. It might help him to have an ally on the inside, given who he was responsible for taking there against their will. So he would agree, whether he wanted to or not. Because Cassian’s past might come to haunt him, sooner than he wanted. Unless he had this ally within. 

“I’m not just going to take you there, however. I want to know what your goal is.” 

The man smiled, smoothing his tailored jacket. “Before this most recent war-” he gestured vaguely, knowing that they needed no further explanation, “-I lost those that I loved. They were the victims of someone who has since been transferred to the Prison. I wish to pay this creature a visit.” He shrugged. 

He wanted to have his revenge. And he had taken the lives of over a dozen fae merely to get the chance. Elain realized with a start that she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t do the same, to avenge Feyre or Nesta. The fact that she understood this killer was cold comfort, when she glanced back at the unwitting victim, the pawn in this male’s scheme for revenge. 

Amren nodded. “We will call for the one who can take you.” The male lowered his head in response. “But you realize,” Amren continued, “that you will never leave. You will have your revenge, perhaps, but that is the end of it. We won’t allow this to continue.” 

“I do.” He bowed at them, as if he had some claim to gentility. Spinning on his heels, he left the room to wait in the hallway, to be led to his imprisonment. Elain hovered behind Amren, the shorter stature of her lover still better than no barrier at all. 

“Are you going to do it?” Elain asked. “Are you going to ask Cassian to take this man to the Prison?” 

“Yes,” Amren replied shortly. “Anyone who has been sent there deserves whatever they receive, my darling. Including myself.” 

They left the cell at the end of that twisting hallway, Elain glancing behind them as they walked to check on this stranger who had gone through all the trouble just to be imprisoned. To find his revenge for those he had loved and lost. 

And in the cold light of that was already becoming familiar in the Winter Court, Elain wondered if she understood Amren’s propensity to the flesh a bit more than she realized.


	3. One Bad Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta and Cassian find a detour on their way to a Halloween party, and Cassian’s attempts to make it into an adventure go horribly wrong. (Modern au) (ps spot the Buffy reference)
> 
> Tags for this chapter: **fluff, Halloween party, mild creepies, no warnings**

Nesta twirled the tail of her costume lazily as she leaned against the railing of the stairs on her front porch. Cassian had kept her waiting for an extra 20 minutes, and she was preparing to leave without him when she heard the sound of gravel beneath the wheels of his truck. He jumped out, rushing around to the passenger-side door and opening it for her.

“Before you begin, I have an excuse,” he started. He held his free hand out for her to take as she stepped into the truck. When she was settled, he shut the door and leaned in the open window frame.

“And what’s that, love? Did your outfit take longer than you thought?” she asked. Cassian’s costume was extraordinary and clearly did not come from a cheap plastic bag, ready-made. He looked on the outside what she knew he was like inside - a knight in shining armor, complete with a fake sword and a family crest on his shield. He had even combed his hair, and she had to fight the urge to run her fingers through it.

“Nope, it isn’t that. Rhys helped me sew this thing together weeks ago. No, what held me up was a detour to get here. Some of the roads are blocked, it looks like there was a car accident or something.”

Nesta frowned. “So we’ll be even later to the party than we already are?”

“Yep, looks like. Buckle in, it might be a bit longer of a ride than we expected.” Cassian walked around to the driver’s side while Nesta rolled her window up. Halloween, while providing the perfect opportunity to dress up, did not make it easy with the chilly weather.

“May I say, you make a lovely cat,” Cassian said, glancing over at her as he settled into his seat.

“I’m a lion,” she answered. “But thank you.”

“Where’s your mane, then?”

Nesta fluffed her hair, which she had curled and sprayed into submission. “This is all I need.”

As they pulled out of her driveway, Nesta calculated how late they might be for the party. An hour, maybe. Hopefully Feyre would be too busy to notice and give her crap, and Elain might be too wrapped up in Lucien to worry about her. She checked her phone and shot Elain a text, anyway.

_Going to be late. Don’t worry._

Elain responded with a thumbs-up and a heart emoji, and Nesta slid her phone back into her purse.

Rhys and Feyre’s Halloween parties were always legendary. Since Feyre had moved in with him, she had been pushing to make them creepier, but Rhys tried to retain some elegance, attempting to keep the tricks that jump out at you and yell to a minimum. Sometimes Cassian became involved, in which case all bets were off. There was usually some good-hearted struggle about how to balance the cute decor with the gory, whether or not there should be waiters dressed as zombies, or if they should play music people could dance to, or music from horror-movie soundtracks. It all made for an interesting clash, depending on who had the stronger will that year.

Nesta wasn’t one for crowds of people, but Cassian’s enthusiasm for this party wore her down every year, and she realized she had started looking forward to it. This would be her fourth time going - she realized with a start that she and Cassian had been together that long, already - and she wondered what tricks he might have under that impeccably-tailored costume.

It didn’t take long for them to approach the first sign warning them that a detour was ahead. Cassian turned onto a side road, one that Nesta wasn’t familiar with. She liked living out here, in the country, away from people, but that didn’t mean she enjoyed nature, necessarily. It was more a result of liking the solitude, and the amazing price that she got on the house that spoke of understated elegance. She caught herself wondering more than once if Cassian would mind living so far away from his family, because she knew she would never move away from that house.

Nesta hummed along to the song on the radio and Cassian placed his hand on her knee, smiling. She had a slight case of nerves that came from being in this sort of situation, where she wasn’t sure who might be there, what to expect. She wrapped her fingers around his and watched out the window at the new scenery they passed.

“Do you know where you’re going?” Nesta asked, after a few minutes of silence and more than a few miles of unrecognizable territory had passed her window.

“Not really, but I figure that we don’t have a choice, and as long as we are headed north, that’s all that matters.”

Nesta grabbed her phone to check the maps. “Well, that doesn’t work out here,” she said as she threw it back in her purse.

“Maybe if you didn’t live in the middle of nowhere…”

“You love my house, you know it.”

Cassian nodded. “That I do. I could spend the rest of my life there.” Nesta bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling as he continued. “Well, I mean, you know. Your house is just really nice. It’s a nice house you have.”

“I know,” she said. She’d press him on the issue if she weren’t already sure of what direction their relationship were headed. With a sigh, she leaned against the window at her side.

They were stopped at another intersection, a state patrol officer explaining that if they wanted to continue into town, they would have to take another turn. With a wave at the officer, Cassian turned the truck to the west, and Nesta let out another sigh, not caring if either of them heard. More time passed, and Nesta became increasingly annoyed at the fact that she didn’t know where she was.

Another stop. Another detour.

“This is getting ridiculous. What could possibly have gone on to make it so that we can’t get to their house? The party started an hour ago.” Nesta rubbed her temples, trying to calm her temper.

“We’ll get there Nes, don’t worry.”

She pulled her phone out of her purse again, attempting to text Elain. No signal. Perfect.

The feel of the truck coming to a slow brought her back to reality and Nesta sat up. “What’s going on?”

Cassian put the truck in park and unhooked his seatbelt. “I want to take a look around here.” He opened his door without further explanation, and Nesta jumped out behind him. They had stopped at a dead-end, a lopsided and rusted iron fence with complex scrollwork the only sign that civilization had once existed here.

When she saw what it was that he wanted to investigate, she stopped walked. “Of course, the graveyard at midnight is super sexy and not creepy, let’s go there.”

“It’s not midnight yet, Nes. And besides, it will help us get in the spirit.” Cassian grinned at her before walking away. His feet were soon buried in leaves, the crunching sound disturbing the otherwise eerie silence.

Nesta grabbed her cell phone and then her tail, not wanting it to trail on the ground, before she followed. She called for him to wait for her, but she didn’t need to. Cassian had reached the fence and was searching for a gate. Her quick eye found it first, and she walked over to it. The hinges had been rusted for ages, and they had to put both their strength into opening the gate. The squeaking that it made was horrible, and birds flew from a nearby tree at the disturbance.

“See, even they don’t want to be here,” Nesta said pointedly.

“Just a quick look, Nes, promise.” He grabbed her hand and led her inside the gates of the cemetery.

Living in the South, Nesta knew that she should be used to things like this. Graveyards abandoned in deep woods, the names on the tombstones worn by years of neglect. They were often accompanied by the skeletons of churches, places where people had once come to pray that their lives in this once-wilderness would end peacefully. Based on the dates on some of those tombstones, Nesta knew that it often wasn’t the case.

“Look at this one,” Cassian said. He brushed dead leaves from a tombstone, kneeling down to look at the inscription. The stone had worn unevenly, but the words had remained legible.

 _Ianthe_  
_Poorly lived_  
_And poorly died_  
_Poorly buried  
_And no one cried_ _

Cassian rested his hand on the stone. “She must not have been well-liked, wouldn’t you say?”

“There’s no point in worrying about her now. Let’s go, ok?” A chill had come over Nesta, the sun had gone down hours ago, and she didn’t know how much longer she could count on her cell phone’s light to guide them back to Cassian’s truck.

Cassian nodded. “Ok, let’s go.” He took her hand but then quickly released it.

“Cassian, what are you doing?”

He was walking away from her and Nesta struggled to keep up, shining her light at the ground to keep from tripping over sticks or roots. When he stopped she didn’t notice and so ran into his back.

“Damnit, Cassian, what’s going on?” She looked up to see him pointing.

“Let’s go in there.” He was indicating some sort of mausoleum that had been hidden by the dark, and the fact that it was overgrown with vines.

Nesta shook her head. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Come on Nes, don’t you want to see what’s inside?” Cassian grinned as he grabbed the doorknob. “Besides, with your knight here,” - he lifted his plastic sword - “nothing bad can happen to you.”

Nesta cursed when he turned the knob, which gratefully didn’t make the same horrible noise as the gate earlier had. Cassian stepped inside and Nesta hesitated. There was something reassuring about being outdoors, as if she had the opportunity to run from whatever might appear. But the dark was also endless, and when she lifted her phone to shine the flashlight into the pitch, she shuddered to realize that she was only able to see a few yards in front of herself. Beyond that, nothing. Beyond that could be anything, or anyone. Clenching her fists, she turned to join Cassian.

The mausoleum was small, only fit for a couple dozen bodies. Leaves and other debris littered the floor. Thankfully, her light was strong enough to illuminate the room. Cassian had already begun to inspect the inscriptions on the plaques that housed what were, presumably, members of the most important families in the area at whatever time this had been built.

Outside, the wind whistled against the walls, rushing through the trees with such force that she became concerned that one of them might fall on the crumbling building they were standing in.

Nesta walked over to the wall opposite Cassian to see who had been interred there. One of the squares of marble that was placed in front of a coffin was slightly askew. She wanted to believe that it was the result of time, not someone who had been buried alive and tried to escape.

In her mind, the next few moments passed in a state of horror. The stone would come loose from the wall; she would jump back as it clattered to the floor, and a hand would reach out for her. She wouldn’t be able to see the rest of the body, only judging from the level of decay of this limb that what was coming for her was dead. Cassian would be taken by another corpse at the other end of the room, unable to come for her as the hand grabbed for her hair, her clothing, whatever it could grasp in order to pull itself out. Or perhaps it would pull her in, forcing her to join it in this tomb, her screams eventually muffled by the narrow space they would be trapped in together.

Nesta’s heart began pounding a bit harder, now consumed with the idea that they had no idea what waited outside for them, and that inside wasn’t much better. They were surrounded by the dead, lost in the woods, and the endless dark would only stay away so long as her phone battery lasted. Which - she looked down - damnit, was not long enough. “Cassian, let’s go. We’re already so late, everyone is going to worry.”

Cassian turned to her. “You don’t care about that.”

Nesta started. “Well, I care if Elain worries. Which…” her words died as she realized what she had sent to Elain. _Going to be late. Don’t worry._ There was no telling when they would begin searching for her, were she to go missing. She had given the perfect reason for no one to begin looking for her for hours, if not longer.

“I want to go. Now.” The force behind her words had Cassian backing away from the tomb he was reading.

“Ok. Let’s go, if you want.”

“I do want. Seriously.” Nesta nearly ran to the door, her phone light concentrated on the ground in front of her. She scanned the area around her before heading in the direction of Cassian’s truck, which luckily, was white.

When Cassian grabbed her arm she nearly jumped, turning and swinging a punch that missed him by inches. “Whoa, calm down! What’s up with you?”

“I don’t like this place.” Nesta turned and nearly ran to his truck, getting in the passenger side without waiting for him to join her.

Cassian got in the truck and Nesta let out a sigh of relief when music began playing and the headlights went on.

“That really bothered you, didn’t it?” Cassian asked.

Nesta rolled her eyes. “In a manner of speaking.”

Cassian sat back in his seat and waited.

“It’s just… I don’t like zombies.”

Cassian’s brow furrowed. “They aren’t real, Nes.”

“I know that! But sometimes I just, I have a strong imagination, ok?” Nesta clicked her seatbelt into place and crossed her arms. “Let’s go.”

“Ok. Let’s go.”

They drove back the way they came, and since the place they had come from was a dead end, Cassian began to explain to the state patrol officer they had encountered before that really, they had no other option than to be let through.

“You’ve been to the dead end?” the woman asked. Her uniform was pressed and she held a flashlight into the truck without shining it in their faces.

“Yes, ma’am. Took a quick tour around a graveyard and then realized we needed to come back,” Cassian answered.

“Well then, I’ll let you through. Have fun at Rhysand’s party.” The woman grinned and backed away from the window.

Nesta practically leaped over Cassian’s lap. “Wait, how did you know we are going to his party? Do you know Rhysand?”

The officer pursed her lips. “Shit. Well I wasn’t supposed to say anything, but this was part of the plan. Everyone has been rerouted to a cemetery to get the party started on the right… note, so to speak.”

Nesta slumped back in her seat. “Drive.”

*****

When they finally arrived at Rhys and Feyre’s home, the party was in full swing. Music was audible from the curb and it seemed like everyone they had ever known was there.

Walking into the mansion, Nesta looked around for a familiar face. The first one she saw was Elain’s, and she approached her and Lucien.

“Nesta, you’re looking fierce,” Lucien said, by way of greeting. His and Elain’s costumes matched somehow, she was sure, but Nesta didn’t have time to figure out what reference they were trying to make.

“That’s my costume.” It was difficult to get anything out of Nesta when Lucien was around, but for Elain’s sake, she was trying. “Thanks,” she added. Elain grasped her hand and led her away from the others, eager to share the latest news about their engagement and wedding plans.

As Elain told her all the details, which she tried to remember for future conversations, Nesta could only think about what she’d had to go through to get to this damn party.

“Where is Rhys?” She had interrupted Elain, but it couldn’t be helped. She needed to talk to her future brother-in-law about his idea of a fun trick to play on party guests.

“I think he’s upstairs. Someone made a mess and he was checking on it.” Elain pulled away from Nesta and tilted her head. “Let’s talk about this tomorrow.”

“Sounds good,” Nesta answered before walking away. She grabbed Cassian by the arm, her feet stomping loud enough to be heard over the thumping music.

“Where are you going?” Feyre raised her voice to be heard and make it clear that she was addressing Nesta.

“We’re going upstairs.”

“So soon?” Feyre grinned, jumping at the chance to give her sister a hard time.

“It’s not what you think. I need to find your husband and give him a piece of my mind.”

“Oh, so you didn’t enjoy the detour? We figured it was the best way for everyone to get what they wanted. Some scares at the cemetery, then coming to the house for the food and drinks…” Feyre’s voice trailed off as Nesta’s face became blank.

“You knew they were doing that?”

“Yeah, of course. I told Rhys that he couldn’t just get rid of the practical jokes. I mean what’s the point if we aren’t scaring people, right?”

“Are you serious?” If looks could kill, Nesta would be a mass murderer at this point, but Feyre brushed it off.

“Yes, I’m serious. You should know better, Nesta. We always like to have our fun.” Feyre grinned wickedly. “So just try to let it go and enjoy yourself.”

“Oh, don’t worry. Next year, I’m in charge,” Nesta replied.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre invites Rhysand to her basement, only to find her plans to make him the latest in her line of victims doesn't go quite as planned.

What Feyre knew was how to lure someone into a sense of ease. Contentment, even. The hint of a smile, a sigh that signaled ease, looking up at someone, submissive from beneath her dramatic eyelashes, they were all indications that she was no threat.   
  
If her upbringing had taught her anything, it was how to hide her darker urges until her unsuspecting victim was too far gone. It wasn’t that Feyre wanted to kill anyone, exactly. But she found the compulsion to hunt too strong to ignore. She might have taken it out on animals rather than humans, if she hadn’t found animals so endearing and innocent, and humans so frustratingly deserving of being culled.   
  
So over the years, Feyre had developed what she liked to call an art. It wasn’t merely a way of attracting others to her, but of watching, waiting, to see who might make the most satisfying subject of her next attempts at quelling the hunger. She knew how to tell when there was no one waiting at home, how to spot a criminal past, or a personality that might be more gullible or sensitive to her charms than others.  
  
What Feyre didn’t know was how she was going to deal with the ego she had lured into her home.   
  
The man who called himself Rhysand was a formidable opponent. It’s what had drawn her to him, initially. Bumping into him in the market had been a calculation on her part, and now she wished she had spent more time analyzing her target. Then, maybe she would have realized what an ass he was. Instead, she had carried her basket over her arm and too easily spilled them over the cobblestones. Any gentlemen would have helped her to gather them, and Rhysand did as she expected.   
  
In the market, Feyre had worn not quite her finest dress - that might intimidate anyone of a lower class - but one that showed off her assets. It couldn’t be too bright, nor too drab. She didn’t want to be so modest that no one would notice her figure, nor did she want to look like a common whore. No one could quite understand the effort that went into this, but she suspected now, after having spent the evening with Rhysand, that she might have met someone else who did.  
  
After a few moments of charming conversation, in which Feyre made it clear she was only as intelligent as would make him comfortable, she suggested that they return to her home where she could repay him for his kindness with a glass of wine, or some other spirit.   
  
When she then suggested that they go into her basement so she could show him her wine cellar, he was all too eager.   
  
An hour later, Feyre was ready to gouge her own eyes out at his insistence on telling her all about her own vintages.   
  
And yet there was something not quite right. Rhysand was a bit _too_ charming, a bit _too_ eager to hear about her father, who in his passing had left her this house and the accompanying cellar. She always chose men who would succumb to her easily, but this man hadn’t even tried to seduce her yet! Which was, of course, when she would slip a stiletto from between the folds of her skirt and claim her stake. A quick motion, slipping the blade between ribs, and the deal was done. Her hunt was complete, and the startled look, the feel of blood on her hand, were the signals that she could let down her mask and show her victims her true face, the intelligence and cunning they had never suspected from a simple, simpering woman.  
  
Feyre and Rhysand had settled into crude wooden chairs in the basement - this was not a place made for entertaining - when he startled her.  
  
“I imagine this cellar is the perfect place to bring all of your guests.” He leaned back in her chair and smiled, smoothing out the fine material of his jacket. Being dressed in all black wasn’t exactly unusual. But now that Feyre was paying closer attention, she noticed that his shirt and tie were also black, though his tie was also embroidered with black thread. It hadn’t struck her as unusual at the time, though it certainly helped him to blend in a bit more with the shadows.   
  
“I beg your pardon?” She was too startled to say anything else and tried to buy herself some time.  
  
“I am referring to the other gentlemen - and ladies - you have invited down here. Never to come out again, if I am correct in my estimation.”   
  
Feyre stood and smoothed her skirts. “I believe it is time for you to leave.”  
  
Rhys stood and strode towards her. “Feyre, darling. I am afraid you think I mean to turn you into the police.” He reached up to stroke her cheek with the back of his hand, but she grabbed it instead. Twisting it at the elbow, she held his arm behind his back.  
  
“I am not to be trifled with, Rhysand.”   
  
He chuckled softly. Insufferable.   
  
“I would like to have a conversation with you, Feyre. I’ve been watching you for a while. And if you release my arm, I will explain my proposition to you.”  
  
She let go and backed away. “Proposition,” she scoffed. “That is unlikely, after you come into my house and insult me like this.”  
  
He raised his hands before sitting back down in his seat.   
  
“I am assuming you have a place to dispose of the bodies. But it isn’t always easy, is it? And this cellar. Not everyone is so eager to enter it with you, are they? As innocent as you make yourself seem, a single woman inviting someone to her home, alone, is still somewhat suspicious.”  
  
“What of it?” she asked. She couldn’t help but be intrigued. She had not once been suspected, but here, this man, who was so beautiful she almost didn’t want to kill him, had been watching her, and noticed.   
  
“I think we would make a good team, Feyre.”  
  
She blinked.   
  
“Yes, I am more like you than you know. I have been looking for a long time, for someone who shared my habits.” He gestured to her skirts. “I imagine that’s where you keep your weapon? Don’t worry, I won’t take it from you.”  
  
Feyre nearly snorted at the implication he was skilled enough.  
  
Rhysand sat forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees. “Yes, I imagine a lot of things about you Feyre, but I have a feeling that you and I, we might be able to make something of this.”  
  
Feyre sat back down in her chair opposite Rhysand. “I think I’d like to hear more.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elain and Azriel inspect a house across the street from a frat party that they are tired of.

Elain stepped out of the frat house and took in a large gulp of fresh air. The interior of that house smelled like beer and sweat and hormones, and that was an improvement from how it usually smelled. Whenever Nesta dragged her there before, to visit her boyfriend Cassian, Elain always had to steel herself against what they would find inside.  
  
It was to be expected, from a bunch of young men living with little supervision for the first time in their lives. Elain wasn’t sure how Nesta could stand it, but she apparently didn’t notice. When she left the house, Nesta and Cassian were wrapped up in one another, Rhys calling out to them to get a room.  
  
“Nice night, isn’t it?” The voice came from the shadow next to the door, and Elain spun around. Azriel stood there, leaning with one foot against the wall, a bottle of beer hanging from his fingers.  
  
“Yeah,” Elain stammered. She gestured inside. “Sorry, I just needed some fresh air. I can leave you alone if you want.” She grabbed the hem of her skirt and ran it through her fingers. She didn’t know much about Azriel. He was hard to get to know, being so quiet. That didn’t necessarily mean mysterious, at least not in a good way. Elain knew too much about Rhysand’s past to assume Azriel would be hiding a two-parent household and smiling, supportive siblings behind his silence.  
  
Azriel pushed himself off the wall with his foot and turned to face her. “No, it’s ok. We can be alone together.”  
  
Elain nodded. “Okay. I can do that.”  
  
But Elain could not do that. She was not the quiet, contemplative type, at least not around people she didn’t know well. Her instinct to make friends kicked in and she cringed internally as she heard herself asking what his costume was supposed to be. All she could see were black pants and a black t-shirt.  
  
He turned around and tugged on what was there. “I’m a bat,” he answered.  
  
“Your wings are kinda small.”  
  
“Yeah, well, I’m not planning on flying any time soon.”  
  
Elain laughed. “It’s not like I’m planning on turning any pumpkins into carriages, either.” She waved her shiny, rainbow-colored wand around.  
  
Silence fell between them and Elain cleared her throat. She looked across the street to the house they were facing. Its windows were shuttered and dark, the grass dead and brown and too long for neighborhood standards. Weeds grew up around the wrought iron fence and a low thud came from the direction of the house that was clearly empty.  
  
Elain frowned.  
  
“Have you ever heard what happened in that house?” Azriel asked her.  
  
“No, I haven’t. I’m not from around here,” she explained.  
  
“Witches,” Azriel said, as if that explained everything.  
  
Elain waited a beat before responding. “You mean women who have been vilified by society because they actually like sex? Or because they weren’t willing to do whatever the men around them said?”  
  
Azriel blinked. “No,” he answered, “I mean actual witches who sacrificed children and did magic and such. I’ve heard no one ever comes out.”  
  
“I dare you to go in there,” Elain countered. “Alone.”  
  
“I have no problem going in there alone. But I doubt you’d join me.” He waved his beer bottle around before setting it on the railing of the porch.  
  
Elain began walking towards the house, pausing when she got to the sidewalk to cross the street. “You coming, then?”  
  
Azriel looked back at the frat house, the warm lights pouring from every window. Cassian was probably in there, making out with Nesta, and Feyre with Rhys, Lucien waiting for his girlfriend to come back inside. But damned if he wasn’t going to have a good time, too.  
  
Elain waited for him to reach her side before she stepped off the sidewalk. She didn’t bother checking for cars. This time of night, everyone was either asleep or at one of the dozens of parties. They certainly weren’t checking in for the night. And neither was Elain.  
  
She looked up at the facade of the house, its cracked paint, the loose shutter on one of the windows on the second floor. Anyone going for a haunted house look needed to look no further for inspiration. There was even mist trailing amongst the overgrown shrubbery, mist that appeared nowhere else. When Elain looked back at the frat house she had come from, the one whose stench could not be described, she was at a loss to explain how it actually seemed cared for. In comparison to this house across the street, the frat was full of life and laughter and light.  
  
Azriel pushed open the door. There was no need to even turn the knob, as the house seemed to welcome them inside. Dust covered every possible surface, furniture was covered in what were once white sheets, and Elain silently thanked the full moon for providing at least a measure of illumination.  
  
She considered grabbing Azriel’s hand, but only for a moment. Not long enough to actually act on it.  
  
“So, where are the witches?” Elain whispered without thinking. The place seemed to beg for silence, lest they disturb whatever presences might remain.  
  
Azriel shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I would say in the basement or the attic,” he whispered in return. “That’s where the creepy stuff happens, right?”  
  
“Attic, then,” Elain answered. She had a horror of being trapped, and the attic at least didn’t give one the impression of being buried.  
  
They headed for the stairs together, the wood creaking beneath their feet. Elain would have laughed at the aesthetic, if she weren’t so terrified at the contrasting stillness that existed here. She had a sudden craving for the noise and clamor of the frat house, even if it did smell like the inside of a locker room mixed with months of sexual tension.  
  
When they reached the landing, she looked left and right, trying to locate the next set of stairs. Azriel grabbed her arm and she gave a small shriek. “Don’t touch me!” she exclaimed.  
  
“I didn’t,” he answered, “But I was going to say the same thing.”  
  
They looked at one another and Elain gave a nervous laugh. “So, let’s find the witches and get out of here, yeah?”  
  
Azriel nodded and pointed to his left. “The stairs to the attic are over here.”  
  
She indicated the same direction. “After you, then, Mr. Hero.”  
  
Azriel began to climb the stairs before her, both of them keenly aware of the closed door that awaited them. Everything had gone still and silent, even the noise from the party across the street somehow disappearing. When Azriel grabbed the doorknob, Elain held her breath.  
  
When he opened the door and walked inside, she closed her eyes and waited for a sound that would indicate she should flee. She was greeted with nothing but his footsteps on the floorboards, and so followed him.  
  
The attic was what she expected; low ceilings, dusty boxes, what she hoped was more furniture draped in dingy sheets. It seemed as if no one had been there in ages. She reached down and pulled her phone out of her pocket to remind herself of the outside world. There were no messages, from Feyre, Nesta, her friends. They were all consumed by the party across the street, and wouldn’t be checking for her until the next afternoon, if they even woke then. The thought caused a shiver to run down her back. Lucien, though. He would look for her. Perhaps he would even venture across the street. But he couldn’t come alone. In terror, Elain turned back towards the stairway to rejoin him.  
  
“Elain, look at this.” Azriel had already made his way to the opposite side of the attic and was holding the flaps of a box open. His small wings seemed ridiculous against all this dark and dust.  
  
“What is it?”  
  
“There is a book in here. It looks really old. Here,” he said, offering her the sides of the box. “Hold this open while I grab some stuff.”  
  
Elain complied, holding the cardboard flaps so that Azriel could take out whatever he wanted. She looked back towards the stairs, certain someone would join them at any moment. She just hoped it would be Lucien, and not a stranger.  
  
“Ok, you have what you were looking for, can we go?”  
  
Azriel took a seat and set the book on his lap. “No, I want to read this. Wait just a minute.” He opened the large tome - Elain couldn’t help but think of it as a tome, now - and tried to read from it. All that came out were sounds that certainly did not sound like English. “Hey, Elain, what do you think of this?” he asked, and he continued to run his finger along the pages, sounds coming his throat that she couldn’t place.  
  
“Azriel, please stop. I don’t think you should read that.” Elain approached him, glancing back at the stairway, when Azriel went still and silent.  
  
“Az?” She took a step closer. He refused to answer. “Azriel? This isn’t funny. Talk to me.” Elain reached him and placed her hand on his shoulder, but she might as well have been touching a sculpture for all the reaction she received.  
  
She dropped to her knees in front of him. “Ok, we need to go, I’m going to take this book from you now, and then we are going to go back to the party.” Elain grabbed the book, but it wouldn’t move from his grasp. His face was expressionless, his effort at holding the book to himself unclear, but she couldn’t move it.  
  
“I’m leaving then. You stay here with your weird book, and I’ll tell everyone you are over here, when they come to search for you in the morning.”  
  
He failed to even blink in reaction to what she said. Fine, then. If he was going to play these games, she would leave. Elain turned back towards the stairwell. When she was greeted and then blocked by a shadowy figure, she promptly lost consciousness. 


	6. nessian - the zombie apocalypse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta and Cassian prepare for a costume party. Pretty much just fluffy!

Nesta swished the tail of her costume in circles, eyes lazily taking in the room. She was familiar with Cassian’s apartment, had stumbled into it half-drunk, their lips crashing together in the dark plenty of times before. Her comfort with the place was born of half-remembered evenings and blurry mornings that smelled of bacon and coffee that Cassian would bring her in bed.

It was just that she preferred they hang out at her place. Nesta’s apartment was well-decorated, comfortable, and didn’t have any unidentifiable smells. But when Cassian told her he was going to take a while getting ready for Rhys and Feyre’s Halloween party, she’d had no choice but to meet him on the way or risk being late. Her costume was the work of a few minutes; a black bodysuit, a headband with pointy cat ears, and a belt that came complete with a tail were all she needed. Cassian’s costume, on the other hand, which he was being very hush hush about, was apparently requiring quite a lot of effort.

Nesta had let herself into the apartment and called out to him, but Cassian hadn’t walked out of the bathroom. She settled herself against the kitchen counter and asked how he was, which led into a tirade about how hard he was working to make his costume better than Rhys and Azriel’s.

“So I told Rhys,” he was saying, his voice rising so he was sure she could hear him, “That if he and Az wanted us to coordinate our outfits again, we’d need more time. This isn’t something we can do in a weekend. Plus, I think Feyre’s the type to want to match him.”

“What have you been in the past?” Nesta asked. She heard the water running, some shuffling of bottles and brushes on the countertop.

“Three Stooges. Rock, paper, and scissors. And have you seen the movie Human Centipede?”

Nesta shuddered. “No, but I don’t need any visuals, thanks.”

The water ran for a moment, there was some more shuffling, and Nesta waited for Cassian to step out into the hallway. Instead, she saw his hands, held aloft in front of him. They were crusted with brown and deep red paint. Next came his arms, covered in tattered brown cloth. Nesta stood up straight, her eyes widening. When Cassian finally stepped through the doorway, she knew why it had taken him so long to get ready.

He was a mess, head-to-toe. Nesta recognized the ripped pants from when he had helped Elain with yard work the spring before. His shirt was a flannel, from long before she had entered his life, and had apparently passed from useful into Halloween costume material. Some of the same brown and red paint was splattered across his chest, but his face was where the real work had gone in. The additions of gray and sickly green face paint gave him hollowed out cheekbones, deeper eye sockets, while the red created a particularly gruesome wound on his temple. 

Cassian lurched forward, ramming his hand into a wall before turning, and cursed. “Oh shit, out of character.” He resumed his blank expression and let out a confused groan, stumbling towards Nesta. When he reached her, his arms fell to his sides and he broke out into a grin. “Ah, that feels weird,” he said, reaching up to gently touch the make-up around his mouth, then thinking better of it.

“This can’t be the zombie apocalypse, I’m not caught up on my favorite shows,” Nesta exclaimed.

Cassian raised an eyebrow. “What shows? Do you even own a tv?”

“I have a laptop, and The Alienist.”

Cassian waited.

“And Real Housewives of New York.”

“There it is,” Cassian said with a grin.

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Why do zombies walk with their arms out, anyway?” she asked. She grabbed her coat from where she had slung it over the back of a chair. 

Cassian blinked. “You know, I’m not sure. Should I not?”

She patted the front of his shirt, admiring the work he had put into looking so decidedly undead. “Well if you’re going to be running into things all night, perhaps not.”

Cassian rubbed his fist. “Good thinking.” 

“You look great, by the way,” Nesta said, smiling. Cassian leaned forward for a kiss and to wrap his arms around her, but she held her hand up. “But don’t get paint all over me.” The combination of a purely black outfit and Cassian’s paints meant that everyone would know exactly where he had touched her, and Nesta was never in the sort of mood to explain a handprint on her ass.

“Now let’s go, Feyre will be wondering where we are.” She lifted up on her toes and gave him a quick peck on the small spot of cheek where he had left bare skin, threw on her coat, all while Cassian continued to explain the nuances of how he, Rhys, and Azriel would decide which of them had the best costume that year.


	7. feysand - please don't leave me here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhys and Feyre are doing some research in their library when they encounter a creepy presence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mostly fluff, but gets creepy towards the end. No body horror or gore present.

Research, Feyre was coming to find out, was a difficult task when one’s library was vast, ancient, and came with a resident beast.  
  
Bryaxis could hardly be called menacing any longer, but some persuasion was required when it came to getting research assistance from certain members of the family. Cassian, it seemed, held a grudge. Years later and with ample proof that Bryaxis would never attack a member of the Inner Circle, Feyre still had not learned what happened between Cassian and Bryaxis in the depths of the library.  
  
Feyre, on the other hand, was willing to visit the library, especially for a task as important as this. She’d decided to try to find proof, for Lucien, of his parentage. The last thing any of them needed was for Helion to pass, Lucien to gain the title of High Lord, and then face outrage from the Autumn Court that might start another war. They needed to show he was the legitimate heir, and soon, to prevent any other claims to the title and ease the transition of power, when it occurred.  
  
That this information would then make Elain the High Lady of the Day Court eventually was, of course, a secondary concern.  
  
Rhys offered his services as a guide, though Feyre suspected it was as much about getting some alone time as anything else. Being High Lord and Lady of the Night Court, it turned out, only made their days busier.  
  
The genealogy section of the archives was located much deeper than Feyre had expected, and when she asked Rhys why, he mumbled something about illegitimacy and scandal and how they couldn’t be expected to air their dirty laundry on the top floor of the library for everyone to see. That the High Lords had a long, hidden history of bad behavior shouldn’t have been shocking, but it was reassuring that such records were kept, for Lucien’s sake.  
  
They had been there for hours, Rhys and Feyre examining alternating shelves and organizing stacks of books that were useful or useless. Feyre stood from the small fort of stacked books she had built around herself and stretched.  
  
“This is going to take forever. Perhaps we can get Mor or Az down here to help,” she suggested.  
  
“Sure,” Rhys said, his attention still in the book he held.  
  
“Maybe if I tell them about how entertaining it is they’ll come.”  
  
Rhys shut his book and look up. “Entertaining?”  
  
“Oh yes, much more so than I thought.” She picked up the most recent book she had been paging through. “ _And though it might be said that he himself was a scoundrel and a rake_ ,” Feyre read, “ _The 5th High Lord of the Night Court produced a son whose finest contribution to society was the elimination of the tax on ales, leading to a general drunkenness in his people. The reader shall note that the scribes were not immune to this vice, and records from the era might be spotty and incomplete_.”  
  
Rhys chuckled. “So that’s why my father was so concerned with how much wine I was allowed with dinner.”  
  
Feyre picked up another book. “Oh, and here’s this one. _The 14th High Lord of the Winter Court was known for his prodigious length, which in its time produced no fewer than two dozen offspring, which one could find in nearly every territory labeled on a map. Of course we must thank the Cauldron that the question of lineage is so clearly determined at the time of death, and thus we avoided the problem of quarrels between his heirs. In addition, most of them had no idea of their true parentage_.”  
  
“I guess that was their way of saying it was too much work to keep track of where he dipped his wick?” Rhys laughed.  
  
“I suppose so.” Feyre smiled. “Let’s come back tomorrow, I think we’ve eliminated a large chunk of useless information. Then we can bring Mor and Az with us too. But Rhys,” Feyre said, pushing a book back into its place on the shelf, “You know shockingly little about what you have down here.”  
  
Rhys shrugged, flipped through the book he held. “I leave the management to the women who spend their time here. I don’t want them to feel like I am hovering, or trying to tell them what to do. You must have realized what it’s like by now, haven’t you?” He looked over at Feyre.  
  
“Yes.” Feyre took a moment to gather her thoughts before continuing. “When I walk into a room now, it’s as if everyone is waiting for me. At first I didn’t know what they wanted, what they expected.” She frowned. “Then I realized they were waiting for instructions. For me to tell them what to do.” She forced a laugh. “I’ve even caught Elain doing it.”  
  
Rhys stood and wrapped his arms around Feyre’s waist from behind, rested his chin on her shoulder. “You’ll get used to it. But you see why I keep my distance here.”  
  
Feyre nodded, turned her head and kissed his cheek. “I understand. But there is a lot of information down here, information that could be useful, even to a powerful High Lord such as yourself.”  
  
“Such as information that could make your sister High Lady?” Rhys teased.  
  
“I’m just trying to prevent conflict,” Feyre countered. She turned, pulling herself from Rhys’s arms. “Let’s get some dinner.”  
  
As Feyre reached the spiral staircase that led them out of the cavernous archives in which they found themselves, a cold breeze came over her shoulder, extinguishing the candles they had set into the sconces. “Rhys?” Feyre turned back to him, but he was already waving a hand and lighting them again.  
  
“Bryaxis?” he asked.  
  
Feyre shook her head. “No. They are in a different part of the library today. Something about woodland creatures, they like small fuzzy things. I think they want a pet. No, this is something else.” Despite the confidence with which Feyre spoke, something in her stomach dropped. She had mastered her powers, and had Rhys for support, but the memory nearly overrode her good sense. She remembered being down in these depths with Nesta, the servants of Hybern who had stolen inside and nearly killed them both. The screams as Bryaxis had ended them. She hadn’t seen the gore so much as heard it, and that was nearly worse.  
  
Feyre swallowed and took a deep breath. “Let’s just leave.” She reached out for Rhys’s hand, but then heard a whisper.  
  
“Please don’t leave me here.” The voice came from behind them; it was childlike, the pleading of someone who was at the mercy of the world around them.  
  
Feyre blanched and tightened her grasp on Rhys’s hand. “We have to check.”  
  
Rhys nodded, his lips thin. “Careful with your words,” he reminded her, “Make no promises, give no thanks.”  
  
They turned back to the stacks and then separated, nodding at one another as they prepared to search the aisles one by one.  
  
“Can’t you stay with me?” The voice came again, small and plaintive. It would have broken Feyre’s heart, if fear weren’t dominating her.  
  
“Please come out,” Feyre said. “We won’t hurt you.”  
  
A sigh came from in front of her, and she glanced back at Rhys once before making her way towards it. With each aisle she passed, Feyre narrowed her eyes and thanked the Cauldron that she could see into the shadows. There was no sign of life, other than the voice that called out to her.  
  
Feyre was nearly to the end of the aisles when a cold hand touched her cheek. Or not a hand, no. There was nothing there but the specter of what might have been a child. She felt her hand being tugged and looked down. There was something there; not quite a shadow, but more substantial than air. It was as if something was blocking her mind, keeping her from seeing its true form.  
  
“Please?” The voice was clearer, and if Feyre hadn’t been looking straight at the area she would have assumed a child stood at her side. As it was, she had to swallow her fear. There was always the possibility of some trickster, some fae who wasn’t loyal to her and Rhys who might make its home down there. And yet that voice… Feyre’s hand was pulled down the aisle, and she followed it willingly.  
  
Feyre reached the end of the aisle and the presence vanished, leaving her hand to regain its warmth. She frowned, but as she turned to make her way back down the aisle-  
  
THUMP.  
  
She turned quickly, her skirts flying around her legs as she assumed a defensive position, but it was unnecessary. She was the only living being in the aisle. A book had been dislodged from a shelf and lie on the floor. _Recent Annals and Adventures of the Day Court: Unedited Version_ , the title read. Feyre crouched down and flipped through it for just a moment before she realized that this was what she and Rhys had been searching for. She snatched it from the ground and looked up.  
  
“Rhys,” Feyre called out. Her voice shook, despite her relief. “I’ve found it.”  
  
Rhys came from around a corner, tension in his face. “The child?”  
  
“No.” Feyre held up the book. “But I think they were trying to help us find this. Let’s go now. And really, Rhys, you need to learn more about what lives in this place.”


End file.
